I don't remember exactly how old I was, I guess because it happened over a long period of time. The bamboo forest behind my neighbor's house was my sanctuary. No one else could get back there but me. No one else knew how to navigate those twisted paths. The tall stalks just shot up into the sky and hid me from the world.
I imagined that I was a princess in a castle, a huntress on safari, a prisoner in the Bastille for crimes against France (I was a well-read child). I never imagined that I was his plaything.
But in the end that's what I was. He found me there one day, and every day after. When I didn't come, he would show up at my house, and come inside even when my brother (who he claimed to be there to see) wasn't home. So I would meet him. I couldn't bear the thought of my parents walking into my room and seeing... He would touch me, grope me, stick things inside me. Was I five? Eight? somewhere around there. I'm fifteen now, and I see him sometimes, in the park or on the street. He acts as though nothing happened. Part of me wants to yell at him, out loud in front of everyone, and tell him just how much I hate him. Another part of me wants him to like me, to approve of me, to want me.
And in that way I'm still under his control. And I hate it. Every time I quicken my step upon hearing a stranger walking behind me, every time I jump when someone comes up behind me, every time I wake up in the middle of the night with a thin ghost of a dream on my mind, wishing I had done better, he controls me. he has chains, weighing me down, that I cannot cut. And sometimes I feel I'll never be free of him.
Why am I writing this? this is a place for survivors to tell their stories. But he controls me even now. I'm not a survivor, am I?
ok, it wasnt as serious as most of these peoples on this site, but it is still a story that is important to me. it doesnt matter that i am still a virgin, the fact is that i was sexually abused, and that it was by someone that i loved and trusted, some one i thought was my friend and role model. My father sexually abused me when i was 4 years old. All the way up until i was 7 i was touched by my what i now call, sperm donar. It affected me so much that i now pretend that i have no father, and when people ask me about him i just say exactly that, that i have no father. i kno that this story may not seem like a big deal to some of u, but u kno what? Until u experiance it by ur own father, i dont care what u say. And 4 others of u that have experianced it or that i understand what i went through, thank u, and please e-mail to talk to me, cos i dont know anyone else that has gone through this and i would love to talk to someone that understands, i mean really understan! ds me.
I read all these stories and it's just so horrible. It's sad to think that there are people in our world who will hurt us and do what they want with us just to please themselves. They do not care who we are or what our age is...to them, we are nothing. And we know better than anyone in this world, that we are a person. A bright, beautiful, human being who deserves the best...and they are not the best. You all shared you stories with the people who have experienced the same, now I share mine.
I'm 14 years old and lead a normal life. I have fun, and I enjoy being with my friends more than anything in this world. When I was 10, though, I never thought my life could return to normal because that's when it became Hell.
I cannot remember his name or his face...even what he looked like. All I know is that he was 12 and I was 10, and what happened was wrong. Horribly wrong. He was a 6th grader, I was a 4th grader, and we were friends. I don't remember if he lived by me or how I met him. I was a very friendly girl though. Yes, I was quite shy and quiet, but I always smiled at everyone and said hello. I was flattered that a 6th grader would want to be friends with a blonde 4th grader like me. I was nothing special to older boys. It's hard for me to remember a lot of the things. How long we were friends and what day it was. I believe it was summer. Him and I would always go to the school around mid-August to help the teacher's set up. One of the middle school science teachers asked us to wash the tables in the science room while they went to talk to the other teacher down the hall. We were cleaning the tables and it felt like the whole world just stopped. I remember dropping the sponge and it seemed like it took eternity to fall when he grabbed me around the waist.
It was a real loving grab but it just felt stronger. I don't remember much of it...I remember him pulling my shorts off and that he felt me down there. And than he pulled of his shorts and I remember I felt something go inside of me. And that I cried...I cried hard and long. He must have stopped, but I didn't notice. I just pulled my shorts on and crawled into the corner where I spent a good time crying. He was long gone, I never really saw him after that. I really didn't want to. But the teacher came in and saw me crying. She rushed over to me and thought I fell and cut myself. My arm was cut open from his nails and bruises were all around. I biked home after that, and I spent weeks in my room. I didn't really talk to anyone or eat much, just layed on my bed and thought. How could I have stopped this and what he did to me. It took me two years to realize what had happened to me. Ever since than, I've refuse! d to see a male doctor of any sort.
And than, this year, another thing happened. Although it was not as bad, it was still terrifying. My German teacher would sexually harass me. Even my guy friends noticed this. They would always joke and say, "Oh, Kara, here's your boyfriend." and the teacher would never stop looking at me. In class, he constantly called on me and touched me, on the shoulders, arms, hand, head...I hated it and shivered with everytime his finger touched me. In the halls, when I'd walk by, he'd smile at me and say something like, "Hello Paula, I'm looking forward to 9th period. Why don't you come over here and talk to me?" Paula is my German name. I would always just turn and keep walking. I hated any encounter with him. One day in German, we were working in groups on a paper he had given us. He came up and started massaging my arm and than leaned down and whispered in my ear: "You know what I read last night in the German paper? That a women's chocolate cravings are directly related to her menst! rual cycle." I laughed because I didn't think much of it. Than that night, we had a school dance and he just happened to be one of the chaperones. He would always stare at me and follow me around so I made sure to stay in big groups and up by the speakers. One time, I was talking to one of my guy friends and he came up and grabbed my arm and pulled me off to the side. Than he leaned down and said something and told me to remind him about it monday. Than he said, "Don't tell your mother what I told you class." Too late! I already had. I was completely terrified and was talking to my friend Jason about it. He told me that I had to tell Mrs. K [the vice principal] right away. On Monday, I went into school and filled out a huge paper explaining everything...including what he's said and other things he's told me. She called me down about a week later and said, "Oh my! If I had seen this sooner, I would have had you in here right away." Talking about this went on for weeks. Talks with my parents, and a guidance counselor watching him in my class. The principal had ensured my parents that he'd be fired by the end of the year [it was part way through 3rd quarter]. But the next day, he was gone. People had many reasons why and cheered me for causing Mr. Parker to leave...no body liked him. I was sent to a psychologist because of him and other reasons. I made sure I had a girl. To this day, even the school does not know why he never showed up. All we knew is that all of his stuff was gone...except that jar of hairspray in his locker.
I've been through things and I still think that they're all my fault. My friends are helping me and I have only told some, the ones I can trust. They tell me it's not my fault and hopefully, some day, I will believe that.